


Cryptographia

by ZombieJesus



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Awkward Conversations, Foreshadowing, Jenova cells have odd side-effects, M/M, Other, Sephtober, Shinra Electric Power Company Science Department, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Young Sephiroth (Compilation of FFVII), and may change over time, implied Sefikura, symbols appear on your skin representing important people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27295324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieJesus/pseuds/ZombieJesus
Summary: Sephiroth knew from a young age that he was different from all other people-- his incredible strength, lightning-fast healing, and slitted eyes that shimmered with an unnatural inner light made people wary, jealous, curious, even cruel. But none of those differences bothered him nearly as much as the cryptic images that occasionally appeared on his skin and that he was determined to hide.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 2
Kudos: 105





	Cryptographia

**Author's Note:**

> This is a variation on a Soulmate AU that’s been explored in other fics. Symbols representing important people in your life appear on the skin of those who have Jenova cells.

It was Hojo who noticed the first image, but that was only natural. Sephiroth was his ward, his most important experimental subject since the moment of the boy’s conception, since even _before_ that. There wasn’t an inch of moon-pale skin that Hojo hadn’t carefully examined numerous times and recorded copious notes on. Permanent marks were considered by Hojo to be impossible on Sephiroth’s body-- there wasn’t a single freckle, mole, or birthmark. So, seeing an unknown silver mark on the back of Sephiroth’s neck was something he didn’t expect and he wasn’t sure what to make of.

  
  


It happened when Sephiroth was 4 years old, unconscious and being prepped for a short surgery to extract cells from various organs for testing. Even then, Sephiroth’s silver hair was quite long-- it grew at a high rate of speed-- and it was only when the long locks had been stuffed into a sterile surgical cap that the marking became apparent.

  
  


Hojo hummed and pulled down the overhead surgical lighting to get a better look. He cradled Sephiroth’s neck, thumbing over the glowing picture. “There’s an anomaly here. Was this present during last month’s procedure?” 

  
  


The technician checked her notes and the photographs from a month ago then shook her head. “No, Professor. What do you think it is?”

  
  


“I’m not sure.” Hojo let his spectacles slide down the bridge of his nose, peering closer. The mark was quite small, perhaps 5 or 6 centimeters long, but highly detailed. There was no way Sephiroth could have placed it there himself.

  
  


“It...looks like a sword, doesn’t it?” The technician took some photographs, musing, “But why would a sword appear on his neck? Maybe he...” She held her tongue before speaking further, turning back to her notes. It was no secret that Hojo had started Sepiroth’s combat training the week before, clearing away the toys and games of childhood to replace them with weapons, armor, and materia. The transition had been confusing and difficult for Sephiroth although his natural talents became immediately apparent. Seeing a child best a trained soldier at the very first try-- had been disconcerting. And a child who knew neither his own strength nor the deadliness of the weapon Hojo had so casually handed to him. The soldier laid cold in the morgue.

“Mmm. Strange very strange.” Hojo excitedly checked the rest of Sephiroth’s skin but there was nothing else. “Simply keep an eye on it.” It felt like a discovery, even if he wasn’t sure what it meant. He chose to believe it was a premonition that his dreams of creating the perfect human weapon would one day come true.

* * *

By 6 years old, a picture appeared that Sephiroth could see. He’d just returned to his room after a long session with Hojo on psionic magic and had burst into tears as soon as the door had closed. _It wasn’t fair. Couldn’t he teach me some OTHER way?_ He’d smiled when he’d first seen the Mysidian rabbits waiting in the experiment chamber, cooing at them and thinking he’d be rewarded with a pet for all his hard work and training, but no….

Hojo had other uses for them and didn’t listen to Sephiroth’s protests. _‘These animals are no pets-- look at their claws! This is the fastest way to test what your telekinetic powers can do.’_

He had complied in the end, he always did. Hojo was very pleased with the extent of Sephiroth’s powers, excitedly muttering to himself about ‘bigger test subjects’ as he pointed for the technicians to clean up the mess. 

The thin silver scratch-marks appeared on Sephiroth’s hand a few hours later, and he felt their indictment. _I’m a monster._ He was lucky to notice them when he was alone, and started wearing leather gloves after that.

* * *

By the time Sephiroth joined the ranks of SOLDIER at age 14, he had half a dozen markings, only some of which made sense to him. A long vertical line, almost like a scar, ran down his abdomen. A black wing curled around his hip, a broken stained-glass window was now on his thigh. The sword at the back of his neck was much longer now, now partially trailing down his spine and tinged with ruby blood. At least that one he didn’t have to see and was easy to hide. The series of cogs on his inner wrist that he was sure symbolized Hojo were harder to ignore and had become more complicated over the years. He’d once tried to cut them away, but it was pointless-- his skin had rapidly healed and the marking reappeared just at distinctly. 

Not all the pictures were disturbing. A small red apple with an arrow through it had appeared on his shoulder after a fight Genesis Rhapsodos (the first truly challenging fight of his life until then). An ornate, gilded egg appeared on his ankle for Angeal Hewley after they got ambushed together on a mission. He was _glad_ to see those types of pictures, ones that weren’t horrible reminders of his regrets or otherwise confusing. He was equally glad to have friends that seemed more like _him_ than anyone else ever had. Both of them suffered from the same singular affliction, which Hojo had termed cryptographia, although Hojo told him they only had a couple of pictures each. There was an unspoken agreement between them never to ask about the pictures of the others but Sephiroth’s relief to see them was mirrored in their eyes. 

Of course, he tried to notice whether Genesis and Angeal had markings that might represent him, but the three of them kept such things well-hidden behind clothing and the masks they’d each put up to be normal, to seem the same as Zack and the other SOLDIERs. The symbol that appeared on Sephiroth’s bicep for Zack made him smile-- a sun cresting the horizon.

The apple eventually cleaved in two, taking root and growing larger into a tree. The egg cracked and a dove emerged, spreading its wings in flight. The sun rose high in the sky of his skin and bathed his arm in golden light. No other pictures appeared for a good long while and Sephiroth’s life felt even, purposeful as his renown grew. The cogs on Sephiroth’s wrist even faded slightly, appearing rusted and bent, while the sword at his back lengthened further and gleamed like a mirror. 

Just because he was different didn’t make him a monster.

* * *

Sephiroth couldn’t have been more surprised when a new picture finally appeared after nearly a decade. He was just on a routine mission to Nibelheim and certainly wasn’t doing anything or meeting anyone important. He was more sullen and cynical these days, and his body would have shown the evidence of why if anyone had been close enough to him to see. A broken, dying apple tree, the bones of a dove. Zack’s sun remained but was half-hidden by dark clouds now and Hojo’s cogs twisted relentlessly from his wrist to his shoulder despite their decrepit ugliness. 

He, Zack, and a handful of Shinra grunts were at the inn in Nibelheim, preparing to head to the reactor the next day. Sephiroth had been lost in melancholy thought, reviewing a map of the area, when he was interrupted. 

“General, sir!”

Sephiroth didn’t look up from his mission report, merely replying in his soft, deep voice, “Yes, what is it?” 

“I...I wanted to introduce myself, sir. Infantryman Strife, sir.” Cloud focused on keeping the nervous tremor from his voice. How many times over the years had he _dreamed_ of meeting Sephiroth? Cloud had idolized the man since he was a kid, had wanted to be just like the Silver General. It was one of the reasons he’d run away from this mountain town to join Shinra’s army. While he hadn’t made the cut to be a SOLDIER, it seemed that he’d gotten one of his wishes. 

“Strife?” Sephiroth finally looked up, his deep green eyes meeting wide, hopeful blue ones. He’d seen this same look on ten thousand different faces, recognized the veil of myth covering nearly everyone who looked at him. It wasn’t Sephiroth they saw but the breathing tapestry of all the legends woven around him. On the surface, he looked the part enough to stand atop the pedestal chiseled by Hojo, by Shinra, by the media. It was where others needed him to stand, as a hero, and why no one could ever see the markings on his skin betraying the lie.

“Yes, sir, Cloud Strife.” Cloud beamed and knocked his boots together in a salute. “It’s such an honor to join you on this mission, General. I doubt I’ll get any sleep tonight at all. Plus, this is my hometown, so I’d be happy to show you around if you needed anything...” He winced slightly, trying to quiet himself. He knew he tended to talk a lot when he got excited. So much for playing it cool in front of his idol.

“Hmm.” Sephiroth sighed at Strife’s rambling, imagining the hours-long trek into the mountains with all this _exuberance_. He arched an eyebrow in Zack’s direction when he heard his friend hide a laugh behind a coughing fit. “I’m not sure what kinds of monsters we might run into so please _do_ try to get some rest tonight.” He turned back to the mission briefing, murmuring, “And try not to disturb mine if you insist on staying up.”

“Oh, I’d never--” Cloud broke off suddenly as he noticed something strange happening to the General’s hand. There was a kind of...mark on it that was slowly becoming more prominent. “What an interesting tattoo...”

Sephiroth looked up sharply, pupils mere slits. _No!_ “What tattoo?” Everything was covered up!

“On your hand.” Cloud stepped closer and tentatively pointed at Sephiroth’s palm. 

Sephiroth hissed as he remembered he’d removed one of his gloves to take notes. That usually wasn’t a problem since the silver scratch marks were on his right hand and he was left-handed. But the infantryman was correct-- what looked like a fiery shooting star was emblazoned across his left palm and appeared far, _far_ more realistic than any of his other markings. It blazed as if it were truly on fire, a long shimmering tail extending up his ring finger. 

“It’s beautiful,” Cloud couldn’t hide the note of wonder in his voice. Everything about this man was gorgeous. “Did it hurt, getting tattooed right there on your palm?”

Sephiroth clenched his fist, looking away as he felt his cheeks heat. “No.” A lie-- all the images end up hurting him somehow, eventually. He stood and strode up the stairs without another word, needing to be alone and away from the eyes of others. Zack knocked on the door a few minutes later but Sephiroth didn’t answer. The only two people who could have understood were gone. 

He paced the room, slowly opening his palm to trace the new picture in confusion. Who had he just met? _Who was Cloud Strife?_

* * *

Cloud stumbled into Midgar, filthy and bruised, with little more than the sword on his back and a stubborn determination _not to die_. He felt older, felt different-- but different from what? His memories were a broken thing, the sharp pieces jabbed at his mind when he tried too hard to recall anything more than hazy details. 

And then there were the odd tattoos he didn’t remember getting, but must have at some point. _Probably when I was a SOLDIER. Probably when I was drunk_. He sank to the floor of the shower in the flophouse room he’d traded a piece of his armor for a night in, looking over his body as the hot rain washed dust away. A thin silver line covered a scar on his chest. A series of interconnected cogs crept up his calf. Shiny metal knuckles above his knee. An eclipsed sun on his ribcage. 

  
  


And a beautiful, fiery star shooting across the palm of his deeply-lined hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sephtober 2020 prompt 'Monster.' I took some liberties with canon of course. I hope you enjoyed it and would love to know if you did! <3
> 
> Catch me on tumblr @kiranatrix (or @avejenova is my FF7 blog)


End file.
